


Guilty Pleasures

by SamoanSexGodReigns



Series: Kinktober 2018 [28]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Do not post to another site, F/M, Kinktober 2018, Non-Wrestling AU, Strippers & Strip Clubs, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamoanSexGodReigns/pseuds/SamoanSexGodReigns
Summary: Nattie goes to one strip show and falls in instant lust with one of the dancers. It's Roman, though, so can you blame her?
Relationships: Natalya Neidhart/Roman Reigns
Series: Kinktober 2018 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1151888
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Guilty Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Writing dancing/stripping is actually really hard. *cries* I tried!

It starts off innocently enough, or as innocently as something like this can start anyway, Natalya muses, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. 

A new establishment pops up about fifteen minutes outside the city, and even though the place has only been open a few weeks their Thirsty Thursday events are already the talk of the town. At least that’s what Nikki and Brie tell her when they drag her stuttering and shy to a ten o’clock show under heavy protest. The twins want to sit front and center, not five feet from the stage, but she’s able to beg them back to the modest safety of the third row. They order drinks, and when the show begins with an attractive blonde removing a skintight replica police uniform, Nattie orders another apple martini because she knows she’s gonna need it. 

She makes it through another five sets and a third martini when the emcee mercifully announces the final performance, and the crowd goes insane. The level of estrogen being produced in the room doubles in less than a second, and a deafening roar of high-pitched feminine excitement assaults her ears as Nikki leans close to shout, “This one’s gonna blow your mind!”

Nikki’s never been more right about anything.

The lights cut out, and the room goes pitch black as the music starts heavy and sensual with pounding bass and drums to match the sudden acceleration of her heart and a tense minute filled with anticipation ticks by anxiously. Then a spotlight clicks to life and draws their eyes to the center of the stage where the next act stands illuminated with their back towards the audience. 

He’s wearing all black from his combat boots to his cargo pants to his tactical vest, and the hair hanging in loose waves between his shoulder blades is obsidian silk to match. He’s at parade rest – feet twelve inches apart, hands clasped behind his back, head forward and motionless – and the position holds the muscles of his arms in defined bronze perfection as Nattie traces over the intricate lines of the tribal tattoo covering his right arm from wrist to shoulder. 

His body seems to activate in sections. 

It begins with his left leg and a rhythmic tapping on the beat of the song that lures her gaze to the deliciously thick thighs straining beneath restrictive fabric and the plump roundness of his juicy ass as the motion works up his form. His torso awakens next, and a slow body roll glides up his spine as the music builds to its first crescendo and something electronic and synthesized drops on the bass, which triggers more choreographed movement from the dancer. He spins around on cue, and tears open his vest to the delighted screams of the women around her, but Nattie is stunned silent by the rippling of his abdomen and the flexing of his chest. His tattoo extends over the entirety of his right pectoral, and she’s got the sudden urge to feel it all under her tongue as he removes his vest and tosses it behind him. He takes a few prowling steps to the edge of the stage, and he caresses one large hand over his rolling chest and stomach to the bulge between his legs, and he squeezes his crotch as he thrusts against his hand in time with the vibrating bass of the song. The women at the table in front of him squeal with glee as wolf whistles and catcalls fill the hall, and the first rain of green bills pours over the stage from every direction. 

He smirks at the hail of cash, and the action brings Nattie’s attention to his face for the first time, and she flushes with shame because _goddamn it_ his face is just as gorgeous as the rest of him and how has she not noticed this until now. His luscious lips are framed by a pristine goatee, and his square jaw leads to the smooth plane of his cheeks and intense light eyes that scan and survey and miss nothing. They lock on Natalya for just a moment, and even though the connection lasts less than a second, electricity zaps at her synapses under the erotic focus of his consideration. He passes over her, however, and instead points to a curvy brunette at a table in the front row.

“I told you we should have sat by the stage,” Nikki says with wistful disappointment, and Nattie can only begin to agree when he bends over to grab the woman by the waist and lifts her up onto the stage like it’s nothing. 

An earlier dancer appears from out of nowhere with a chair, and Sir Sexy carries Lucky Lady over to it as she giggles and explores his strong shoulders. He lets her slip slow and intimate down the length of his body and then guides her down into her new seat. He turns and spins around her chair before coming to a stop in front of her and straddling her legs. His hands are on the back of the chair, and he’s caging her in with his body as he circles and sways his hips into her lap, and once there, he grinds their pelvises together in a carnal imitation of sex that’s got Nattie’s pussy tingling at the sight. He reaches for her hand and places it on his stomach, encouraging her to touch him as he dances in her personal space, and she’s not upset by the intrusion if her wicked smile is anything to go by.

Truth is, Nattie wouldn’t mind having this guy invading her spaces either, and she’s pretty sure she’s never been more envious of anyone in her entire life than she is of the petite woman on the stage right now. She wants under this guy _bad_ , and she sits there stone still as this useless realization dawns on her, and she continues to stare riveted at the salacious show unfolding in front of her.

He pushes back to his feet, and her fingers drag down his torso to just barely brush over his cock as he steps away from her and Natalya’s not sure if she wants to punch the bitch or high-five her because _fuck_ , she wants to touch his dick, too. Hell, she’s pretty positive that every woman in this room wants to touch his dick, and the confident curl of his lips says he knows it, too. He rotates on his heels, so he’s facing the crowd once more, and he moves and shakes like something out of a Magic Mike fantasy as he grabs the front of his pants and tears them away from his body. He throws them into the audience, and the decibels in the club reach Krakatoa levels when he turns back to the woman on the stage and gyrates his hips mere inches from her face. He stays there as the beat hits another peak, and then he thrusts towards her open mouth in quick succession as she hollers with joy.

Nattie’s mouth is open, too, and she’s practically drooling on the floor because his tiny black trunks leave nothing to the imagination. The material is cut a little high in the back, and it shows just a tease of the sweet globes of his ass, and it’s so tight she swears she can count the veins of his half-hard cock under the stretched thin cloth. Her cunt clenches with desire and she rubs her legs together in an effort to relieve the pressure building between her thighs. Natalya knows she’s going to be thinking about this rugged model of a man when she’s three fingers deep and cumming for weeks after this, and she doesn’t feel a bit bad about it. 

As the music winds down, a second man comes out to escort the brunette off the stage and back to her original seat while Sir Sexy hops down into the crowd to walk the floor. Dozens of arms shoot up, including Nikki and Brie’s, and he dances over to every single one of them as they stuff his speedo with lust laced cash. 

When he gets to their table, the twins giggle and sigh as he takes both of their hands on an enticing journey over his fat pecs and delectable abdomen to the money lined waistband of his tiny trunks. They curl slim fingers under the elastic to tuck identical twenty-dollar bills beneath the fabric, and they both pull back to fan their rosy faces in unison. He chuckles at their reaction, and then his eyes land on Natalya again, and she watches transfixed as he rounds the table and comes to stand directly in front of her. He towers over her chair, impressive and exquisite, and there’s a fifty clutched in her sweaty fist that she doesn’t remember grabbing from her purse, but she’s too frozen to give it to him. Her insides are quivering with adrenaline and arousal, but she can’t harness an iota of that energy into action, and he raises a brow in question as Nattie goes red with embarrassment at her juvenile behavior. 

_Just hand him the money, Nattie, fuck, it’s not that hard_ , she berates herself when after a solid thirty seconds she still hasn’t moved a millimeter. He seems to take pity on her then, and he smiles at her, something soft and genuine and out of character, as he grabs her hand and gently uncurls her stiff fingers. He sets her hand in the center of his chest and then guides it down his torso until the heel of her hand is resting on his cock, and Natalya gulps as she dips trembling fingers into his speedo. Her nails drag through the barest hint of his tightly trimmed pubic hair as she does so, and her heart stumbles behind her ribs, and she yanks her hand back as her eyes dart to his face in apology. He only winks and smiles at her again, though before turning around and heading back to the stage for his final bow.

“Alright, let’s hear it one more time for the Big Dog Roman Reigns!”

The DJ’s booming voice slices through the concern that she may have just fondled this dancer – this _Roman_ – and she stares down at her traitorous hand as the prickle of phantom hair tickles across her fingertips. 

It’s still the hand that she uses to masturbate the second she gets home, though, and when she cums it’s with Roman’s name on her lips, and thankfully there’s no one around to hear her when she does it three more times before passing out in a blissful heap.

Seven nights later, Nattie finds herself sneaking back to the Thirsty Thursday show with only herself for company. She sits at the same table she occupied previously and tries not to look as nervous and out of place as she feels. She’s not even sure what she’s doing here, to be honest, but ever since she became aware of Roman’s existence, she hasn’t been able to think of anything else. One might even say that she’s a tad bit obsessed at this point. So, she sits through his performance, captivated and hungry, and when he makes his rounds through the crowd, she’s actually able to tip him without hesitation. Her heart still trips in her chest, though, when he brings her hand to his lips and unexpectedly kisses her knuckles.

It goes on uneventful like that for a little over a month. 

Nattie spends every Thursday night at the club watching Roman dance, and every Thursday night, she tips him fifty bucks to secretly thank him for all the wild orgasms he’s been giving her in her mind recently. 

He’s just left the stage, and there’s still one performer left, but Natalya’s already seen what she came here to see, so she settles her tab and makes her way to the front door as surreptitiously as possible. She doesn’t make it far however before she’s intercepted by a set of gigantic bouncers that suddenly and stealthily slide into her path to block the exit.

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to come with me, please.” The taller of the two says as he extends his arm and gestures to a blacked-out door to the right that she’s never noticed before.

“I’m sorry, what’s this about? Have I done something wrong?” she sputters as fear trickles sleet gray and slick into her blood.

“The manager wants to speak with you. If you could follow me, please.”

He starts making his way to the hidden door, and she follows him with numb limbs, and she wracks her brain to try and figure out just what she’s done to warrant being pulled aside like this. Unfortunately, the only thing she can think of is the uncomfortable possibility that she probably overstepped the boundary of acceptable touch on her very first night here. Yet that was so long ago now, and she can’t fathom why they would let so much time pass before confronting her if that’s the case. 

The door opens into a large L shaped hallway with more doors lining either wall in front of her and a path leading to the stage to her right. They continue forward, and as they pass – two, four, six, eight doors – Natalya notices little star-shaped name plaques that declare each room belongs to men with names like Dolph, Tyler, and Finn, but they bypass them all. They come to a stop at the end of the hallway in front of the last door, and the plaque on this one just says ‘manager’ in big bold letters. 

The bouncer knocks briskly on the door and a rumbling voice from the other side answers, “Come in,” and the bouncer opens the door for her to step inside. 

The office is big and modestly furnished with some sports memorabilia scattered across the walls, but it’s all inconsequential to the man sitting casually on the desk because it’s fucking Roman Reigns. As in the dancer she’s been unhealthily crushing on for the past few weeks, and while she’s been here assuming that dancing’s all he does he’s actually been running the fucking place. Of course, it’s just her fucking luck that she accidentally groped the manager of the whole joint. 

He looks relaxed and unbothered, and Nattie’s just as fascinated by him with his clothes on as she is with his clothes off, and honestly no human being has the right to look this fucking good in sweatpants and a t-shirt. The silence between them stretches taut and awkward, but Natalya’s too anxious to break it and chooses instead to stare at a spot on the wall just over his left shoulder, and it’s Roman who speaks first.

“So, you’re a big fan of the show, huh?”

His voice is bourbon smooth and whiskey warm, and she has to suppress a shiver as the sensual tone of it intoxicates her mind. “W-what do you mean?” she asks, feigning ignorance.

“You’ve been here every Thursday for the last six weeks, and that type of behavior generally indicates that someone is a fan,” he replies with a shrug.

Nattie scoffs, slightly less afraid and more indignant. “I can’t be the only woman who comes here on a regular basis, can’t be the only face you’ve seen here more than once, and do you drag them all back here for questioning like some kind of criminal?” she demands.

“Only the ones I want to fuck,” he admits, placing the ball firmly in her court, and Nattie doesn’t really need to think it over much. 

Roman positively wrecks her against the wall of his office that night, and she leaves wired and weak and more satisfied than she can ever remember being.

So, while the whole situation may have started off innocently enough, it’s definitely not anymore since she spends one night every week getting ravished and railed by a man that she never sees for anything other than exactly that. 

Nope, now the situation is absolutely fucking sinful, and Nattie doesn’t want it any other way.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kinktober 2018 Day 28 prompt - stripping/striptease


End file.
